Golly, another snotblossom? [Code for an Ann Wuehler Experience blog post because that whole think positive thing hasn’t caught up with me yet]
Yes. Because. I finished. The novel. I vowed to finish. Before the end. Of November.
Wheeeeeeeeeeee. E.
Okay, I’m done experimenting with punctuation. Or grammar. Or. Mm. Ahem!
As it stands now, the very rough first draft stands just under forty-five thousand words. Ten chapters or so. I might have miscounted. I know I let entire threads drop away. I know there’s much wrong right now with Naked Farmers of the Apocalypse. Which will probably either get a new name or have that band become a much bigger part of the overall STORY than it is now.
There are things that need to be tightened. There are things that need to be expanded. That’s so obvious a pet rock would know that instinctively and act accordingly.
Oh the ending. I scraped my fingernails across my soul’s blackboard and then dug out the crap from under my figurative nails and called it the finale. wheeee eee uh
The news continues to shred my will to live. I really do think America has to be plunged into an abject, horrible time, where it’s ruled by absolute assmunches that future Alt-History books will label with a gentle fondness for the Good Ole Days…before it learns that’s not a good thing. What?? Fascism is bad?? What??!!
Except so many seem to want authoritarian boots on their necks as long as those boots are stomping others they hate and fear into bloodied rags…As long as it’s not happening to you it’s great!
Except. Losing your rights, your freedoms, your voice, your vote…it will happen to those without gigantically deep pockets. Even a dummy like me can see that one slithering in from Bethlehem to be born, if not born already, hello… from a thousand miles out.
Those fragile checks and balances…blowin’ in the wind, baby. Blowin’ in the wind.
Now that we’re all depressed or you’re chuckling over what a snowflake I am…I’ll post some excerpts come December first, because that’s Christmas month and you should all get a chuckle out of my novel-writing efforts. Isn’t that why you stop by here once a year or so? For the chuckles?
ANN WUEHLER 